from eden
by heartsayshello95
Summary: mike and sam are the sole survivors of the events on blackwood. now fucking what?
1. Chapter 1

**sam**

the wendigo is in the air now.

after the house blows up behind me and the impact forces me five feet in the air. i feel my rib crack on the way down. he pulls me up and holds onto my arm.

the helicopter is circling above us. a dark figure is lowered down. it takes ages for their boots to hit the ground.

she yells, asking if we're hurt. it sounds like an accusation. mike looks worse than i do. he's caked in dirt. the wraps over his fingers are soaked in blood. he has deep cuts on his neck, a black eye, and a busted lip.

she grabs him by the shoulder. "can you walk?" he nods.

"have you found the others?" i yell over the whir of the helicopter. but mike and i know where they are. in the mines. bodies swaying from hooks.

i clutch my ribs, dry heave, and lose consciousness.

* * *

 **mike**

they separate us.

she disappears behind door #1. It's door #2 for me.

it's a fucking police station. not a hospital.

they ask questions. questions that i don't know how to answer. they ask about the others. they ask about jess and i fucking lose it. it's my fault. it's my fault. it's. all. my. fucking. fault.

"i'm the reason jess is dead."

i stop answering questions after that.

* * *

 **sam**

i don't know how long i stay in the hospital. long enough for them to find the bodies. long enough for them to make me answer the same questions a hundred times over.

they wont let me see him.

but he's alive. i know that.

i'm deaf in my right ear from hannah screaming less than an inch from my face. not hannah. the wendigo. they said it might just be temporary. but it might not.

i have bruises and cuts and a broken rib. but i'm alive.

why am i alive again?

* * *

 **mike**

after dodging questions for a week, i'm home.

back to my shitty apartment. my shitty life. my dead end job. they don't want me to come back until i'm completely healed. joke's on them.

i'm not in school. couldn't afford it. sam is though. i wonder if she went back.

she won't answer my calls or texts.

i haven't left my house since i got home. i live in fear. they are coming for me.

the police. the wendigo. my dead friends.

my friends call. other friends. to ask me how if i'm okay or whatever. but they're not the friends that matter.

* * *

 **sam**

my text just says hey.

nothing else. i can't think of anything else. it's been a month. ive listened to his voicemails a dozen times over trying to think of the proper words to say. but there are no words to make this okay.

can i come over? i send that one a minute later.

yes.

then i realize i don't know where he lives so he texts me the address. i take the bus because driving gives me panic attacks now.

* * *

 **mike**

she's at my doorstep an hour later. i brushed my teeth to rid myself of the smell of jack daniels.

she's smaller than i remember.

have you been eating? that's the first thing i ask her. after a month of not talking the first thing my dumb ass asks about her eating habits.

"no," she says narrowing her eyes. "have you been drinking?"

"yes."

we drop the subject. it's about control for both of us.

she collapses into my arms and i'm not expecting the hug. i think this is our first hug in three years of friendship. if that's what you want to call it.

i make a small noise. a sharp intake of breath. it's pathetic.

and then i hug her too.

* * *

 **sam**

he's lonely too i can tell. his apartment smells like death. i stay the night. i tell myself its because i'm tired of my roommate looking at me like a wounded deer and besides, the buses have stopped running. but it's not.

it's because i'm weak. and i haven't talked to anyone in a month and i'm lonely.  
we share a joint and a bottle of whisky. two things i didn't do before. but the way mike blows smoke out of side of his mouth reminds me of josh. they used to smoke together. i know this but i don't say it.

"are we going to talk about it?" i ask. this is because im drunk and high and too much of a lightweight.

he doesn't answer.

"i can't get it out of my head. i see it every time i close my eyes."

"sam." his jaw clenches. "stop."

"i want to feel something," i say.

* * *

 **mike**

i kiss her.

or she kisses me. it doesn't fucking matter.

i'm drunk and she's straddling me and this is a bad idea. she grinds her body against my dick. and i can't think about anything else. i slide my hands up the back her shirt. she has fabric wrapped around her chest.

she yelps into my mouth. it's her ribs. i feel like a dumbass. she pulls away with her brow furrowed.

"do you still love her?" she asks.

"no," i say. "i never did."

this makes me a bad person. we both know it. she kisses me again and makes herself a bad person too. my mouth is already bleeding with my confession, and she bites harder.

and now its my turn. "do you still love him?" she doesn't answer so i pull away. "i'm sorry," i say. "i couldn't save him."

she brushes me off because we both know i didn't even try.

"you ruined it."

* * *

 **sam**

i fall asleep on his couch at 4 am. i don't know if he ever sleeps because when i wake up he's gone. i take a shower since i don't have anywhere better to be.

i borrow one of his shirts when i get out. there's a picture of him, em, and me from prom. i pick it up, staring at em. i set the picture face down.

the door opens and mike appears again.

"i brought breakfast," he says, holding up a mcdonald's bag.

"thanks, but…"

"you should eat."

"i'm a vegan, mike."

it takes him a second to process this. i don't know why i'm surprised that he doesn't remember. it's not like we were close before. and we're not close now.

"fuck. i knew that. i promise. i just wasn't thinking."

"take care of yourself, mike."

and i leave.

* * *

 **mike**

the next time i see her is our court date which is three months later. our eyes meet from across the room. she's wearing a dark sweater that swallows her body and jeans that hug her thighs. she's chopped her hair around her shoulders and it frames her thin face. my chest tightens and i've never felt this feeling before. our appointed lawyer shuffles her along until she's standing right in front of me.

it's my turn to hug her. she's shocked and pushes me away. but not before a few pictures are taken of the incident. it'll make for a great story. local dumbass hugs traumatized accomplice before she pushes him away because everything about him disgusts her.

we sit down and the trial begins.

* * *

 **sam**

mike is on the stand first. we're being tried for arson on the Washington property. the lawyer is making us plea temporary insanity.

they bring up his father while questioning him.

"objection! relevance," our lawyer says.

"yes, what does the father have to do with this?" the judge asks.

"i have a point," the prosecutor says.

"get on with it then."

the prosecutor asks him about his father. "tell us how he died, michael."

"in a fire." he says this through gritted teeth.

"so this isn't your first run in with fire,' the prosecutor says.

"are you asking me if i killed him?"

"no, of course not, michael." he looks at the paper in his hands. "it says right here that your whole family was in the house. you, your two brothers, and your mother. you all made it out safely." mike's eyes are glass.

"but even that wasn't your first experience with fire was it?" mike looks at the judge, then our lawyer, begging anybody to save him from these questions. i can only watch.

"no, it wasn't."

"tell us about it, michael." mike bites his lip. "michael, tell us about the abuse."

"my father…he used to hurt us."

"how?"

"with his lighter." the judge walks up to the stand.

"these are all the domestic cases on the munroe family before they moved to alberta. noise complaints. house calls. it's all there. with one common factor: fire."

the prosecutor then flips through pictures on a projector. of the fire. of the kids. of a twelve-year-old mike's back with an array of burn marks that licked all the way up to the base of his neck.

"then you followed in your father's footstep didn't you, michael?"

"no."

"when you were fourteen?" mike didn't answer him. "alright, i will tell them then. while mr. munroe still lived in America, he and his friends started a fire on school property."

"objection! that's never been proved." our lawyer was scrambling.

"i'll rephrase," the prosecutor said. "michael and his friends _allegedly_ started a fire on school property. all the friends got away but michael was caught. the only reason he was not charged is because he gave up the names of those friends that were with him. not the loyalist of friends, huh, michael?" a muscle in his jaw twitches. "it happened then and he wasn't punished. now it happened again. worse this time. this," he said pointing to mike," is not an innocent man. this is a man with prior history with fires. this is a man that endured an abusive father who has now adopted his habits, common in abuse cases. mr. munroe was very aware of what he was doing that night. this is not a man who suffered from temporary insanity. he did it as a kid and got away with it, do not let him get away with it again."

* * *

 **mike**

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

she's looking at me. they're all looking at me.

i wipe my eyes with a sleeve and stare at my shoes.

she's up next. our lawyer asks her questions first. they ask about when we were in the mines. they ask about the bodies. she makes sam describe it. how their bodies were hanging from chains. how i puked when we saw it. how she feared we were going to end up just like them by the end of the night. how relieved she was when we found josh. he was hallucinating, but he was alive.

then she asked about josh. sam clammed up. she never did like to talk about what they were to each other. em and jess always liked to tease her about it.

"was josh your boyfriend?"

"we never labelled it like that."

"but you were sleeping together, yes?"

she grits her teeth. "yes."

"did you think he loved you?" she doesn't answer. "samantha?"

"i used to."

"why past tense?"

"you don't do that to someone you love. you don't chase them around like that. you don't stick a needle in their neck and sedate them. you don't tie them to a chair in nothing but a towel and videotape it."

then our lawyer asked about the fire.

"we were trapped. they had us trapped in that house. it was the only way. we had no weapons. nothing. we could have very easily died in the fire too. we should have died in the fire. but we made it out."

then they play our police interviews. when i talk about jess i can hear the jury take in a breath. the interviews are cut together like a movie. it ends with sam.

"i said i'm fine," she yells at the officer off screen.

"sam," the lawyer turns her attention back to her. "does that look 'fine' to you?"

sam shakes her head.

"i don't think so either, samantha. and i think the jury needs to ask themselves the same question. do these look like two criminals to you that had intent to cause damage?" she points to the screen. "or do these look like two teenagers who were doing whatever it took to survive a night of terror that we couldn't even fathom?"

* * *

 **sam**

we're both put on probation for the next two years. along with court mandated therapy twice a week.

but we're not going to jail. which is a victory.

i don't know what to do next. i find mike.

* * *

 **mike**

"can i come home with you?"

there's something tragic about the way she looks at me. something lonesome. something magical.

i nod.

* * *

 **sam**

we're back at his apartment now.

the door shuts and he kisses me hungrily, holding my face in his hands. he pins me against the wall with his hip. my hands are in his hair. it's greasy like he hasn't showered but i don't give a fuck.

i wrap my legs around his torso. my breath caught in my throat. he takes the memo, picking me and dropping me on his kitchen table. his hips find their place between my legs where they belong. i run my hands along his chest, grabbing at the edge of his t-shirt, pulling it with force.

"sammy," he groans. his breath is hot in my ear.

* * *

 **mike**

her hands follow the trail of hair that disappears into my jeans to my cock.

"not yet," i say hoarsely against her collarbone.

i slide her sweater over her head and kiss her shoulders and neck. she throws her head back, grabbing fistfuls of my hair as i trail down her stomach, kissing the fleshy parts of her thighs. her hand is rough on the back of my neck as she tries to guide me where she wants me to go, but i'm not done being an asshole yet.

"you're such a fucking dick," she pants in a throaty voice.

* * *

 **sam**

i can feel him grinning against my skin as he edges closer to my clit. "fuck," i say. he slips two fingers into me slowly while running his tongue along my wet skin. my legs start to shake involuntarily as he traces his way back up my body leaving his hand to do the work. we're kissing again. it's sloppy and wet and fucking perfect. i sit up again and yank at his belt, my tongue running the length of his jaw.

he kicks off his shoes as his pants hit the ground.

"i need you inside me right fucking now," i say.

* * *

 **mike**

my dick twitches when she says that. and i swear to fucking god i could come just from her honey voice. she guides my dick into her, showing me the spot that feels the best. we lock eyes as my hips buck back and forth. she squirms at my touch, obscenities tumbling out of her mouth.

"jesus, mike," she huffs. she matches her hips with mine and i kiss her again because i can't get enough of the way she tastes. sam arches her back, pressing her palm into my chest. i move faster. "mike. mike. m-" her eyes close and her mouth opens only slightly. she leans into me further and scrapes her teeth on my shoulder. she groans as she's sent over the edge. in the light she looks like a fucking angel and it's not fair. three more thrusts and i'm gone too. i feel her contracting around me.

"fucking hell, sam," i moan, leaning most of my weight onto her. she runs her hands through my hair one more time.

* * *

 **sam**

we spoon in his bed. he's not asleep though. i know by his shallow breaths.

"how do you sleep?" he asks quietly.

"i don't," i say flipping over to face him. "i fucking don't." i grabs his t-shirt in my fist just to make sure he's real.

"you're different now," he whispers.

"you can't say that. you didn't know me before." he runs his fingers along my ribs.

"i-"

"don't say you're sorry because i know you're not." he twirls a piece of hair between his thumb and index finger. it's only now that i remember two of his fingers are gone. "how are we supposed to go back to normal after this? how are we supposed to live?"

"i don't know, sammy." he presses his lips against my forehead. "i don't know."

* * *

 **mike**

when i'm sure she's asleep, i go outside to smoke a cigarette. i rarely used to smoke before. i usually go through a pack a day now. it's only out here that i let myself break down. sobs wrack my chest and my hands are shaking.

i'm thinking about my friends and that night and how i should be the dead one not them. i'm thinking about my dad and how he fucked me up and how much i learned to hate myself because of him.

i'm freaking out so hard i don't hear the door close behind me. she sits down next to me and pulls me into her arms.

"it should've been me. it should have fucking been me." i cry into her chest. i know she's crying too. teardrops fall onto my hair and roll down my neck. "why am i alive, sam?"

"because i need you."

"me or somebody?" i don't know if i'm making sense.

she doesn't even hesitate. this is why she's the sun and i'm not. "you."


	2. Chapter 2

**sam**

i coax him into getting back into bed. he turns away from me and when i try to touch his shoulder he flinches away. "im sorry, mike."

"you're the only one that knows." he's talking about his father. "don't tell anyone, ok?"

"i have no one left to tell," i say. "all my friends are dead." i laugh dryly. it sounds more like a dry heave.

he turns to face me. his eyes are rimmed red. i reach out and touch his cheek. i wish i could cry too. "im not dead," he says.

* * *

 **sam**

"mike, can you drive me to the pharmacy?" i ask, nibbling a piece of dry toast. every swallow is a victory.

mike looks up from the other side of the table. he's been enjoying his cereal. "yeah why?"

"because we didn't use a condom." i don't know why i say it like this. maybe i want to see some semblance of emotion on his face.

"uh. yeah. fuck, sam. sorry."

"it's fine. my fault too. let's just deal with it and forget it, ok?"

* * *

 **mike**

she wants to forget it. does she regret it?

do i?

no. no, i don't. but i'm a whore and sam's not. so it's different.

we get to the pharmacy and find the family planning section. she grabs the box without looking and doesn't wait for me to follow.

she's already at the counter. she hands the box over shyly and digs for her wallet. "sam, i'll pay for it."

she doesn't argue. the cashier gives us a weird look. "you look familiar," he says. "did we go to school together or something?"

"nah, man," i say. "think you got it wrong." he picks up the plan b and scans it. i can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

there's a couple magazines on the counter. the enquirer and shit. one of them has a picture from our trial on it. the picture is of the hug. right before she pushed me away. she has her eyes closed. my fingers are tangled in her blonde hair. all three of them. 'BLACKWOOD TRIAL TELL ALL' it says in bold yellow letters. then under it it says "meet the new bonnie and clyde". i nudge sam to look. she huffs angrily.

"oh shit. you're from the news. the both of you. my girlfriend's obsessed with all that blackwood stuff," he says. "neither of us think you killed them. we have a bunch of theories. christ, she's not going to believe i met you." i throw a fifty on the counter.

"glad we can entertain you. keep the change. come on, sam." i grab her hand and we leave.

* * *

 **sam**

"thanks for driving me," i say. i fumble with the seat belt.

"sam." i look up. "i can't. i don't want you to disappear for three months again. i can't do that again."

i reach out and cup his jaw in my left hand. "get some sleep, ok?" i think he thinks im going to kiss him, but i'm not. and i don't.

"sam…"

"i'm sorry, mike."

i'm not strong enough for any of this. i thought being with him would help. but i have this aching sense of guilt deep in my gut that won't go away now.

"is this because of that guy? sam, he was an idiot. they all are. it doesn't matter what they think," he says.

"it's not because of him. it's me," i say. "i just need some time to think."

* * *

 **mike**

it's another month of silence. my therapist says i have control issues. i tell her she's full of shit.

after the month of silence, the month of funerals begin.

jess's is the first. i text sam about it. she doesn't answer me. i get piss drunk at a bar with some guys from work and fuck a girl with sad eyes in the bathroom. i don't necessarily want to, but it's easy and the only time we talk is when she's moaning my name under her breath. though i think that she thinks my name is nick.

she has long blonde hair like jess. she gives me her number and tells me to call her and i tell her i will and she pretends to believe me. her and her sad eyes leave and i realize i forgot to ask her her name.

* * *

 **sam**

i pick up the phone every day to text him, but something always stops me.

he texted me about jess one morning. i miss her, is all he says. i want to tell him that i miss her too. i miss her stupid jokes and the way she wore her heart on her sleeve and the sleepovers all of us used to have and

no.

i can't keep thinking about stuff like this. he texts me that night too. he tells me he's drunk and a really bad person. and he saw someone that looked like me and was it me?

my therapist asks me why i don't change my number if i don't want to talk to him.

she thinks that we should talk. but i'm not ready yet. but she's says i'll never be ready. i ask her how she thinks he's doing. she tells me if i want to know i should ask him myself. but the look on her face tells me he's not doing well at all.

i know this and i don't call him.

i'm a bad person too i guess.

* * *

 **mike**

i go to em's funeral. her parents liked me when we were together.

i miss em in a different way than i miss the others. i was with her longer than any other girl i've been with. but it ended after the prank. she blamed me and i blamed her and it ruined us. i think if i'd ever loved any girl it was em.

her mother hugs me and i start crying. her father pats me on the shoulder. she holds me tighter and whispers something in my ear and i don't understand it at first.

she's saying she's sorry. she tells me it's best if i leave. it will make a scene if other people realize who i am.

so i leave.

* * *

 **sam**

all the evidence is destroyed. the police are baffled. calls are made. in the end, no one can do anything about it.

the mines have completely collapsed. the sanatorium crumbles. bad infrastructure and a cruel snowstorm. it was bound to happen. that's what the newspapers say.

we were supposed to go to court again. for everybody's death. with everything gone, there is no case. our lawyer tries not to look relieved but i know she is. she thinks we would have lost. i don't know why i'm not relieved too.

i'm convinced it was the washingtons. someone with a lot of power. someone with a lot of money to pay people off to keep their mouth shut. i wonder if they did it for us or for josh.

i tell my therapist. she's says i shouldn't dwell on it too much. it's not good for me. mike would believe me, i tell her. she writes something down in her notepad and i know i've said too much.

i think she's just relieved she doesn't have to choose whether to testify against us or not. i think she thinks we're guilty. i don't tell her this.

* * *

 **mike**

there's a knock at my door. it's 3 am but i wasn't asleep so i guess it doesn't matter.

it's sam.

her hair is wet, matted down to her forehead. i can just make out the outline of her tits through her soaked shirt.

"hi."

"hi."

"can i come in?"

i hesitate.

"yeah."

i open the door for her. i let her borrow dry clothes and then she's sitting across from me and we're staring at each other. this is when i realize that we're strangers.

"why are you here sam?"

"honestly?" she looks up. i nod. "i don't know."

"you can't keep doing this to me," i say. "it's not fair."

"i'm sorry," she says. i think she means it, but i've always been bad at this sort of thing.

she falls asleep in my bed an hour later, curled in a ball in the middle. her body seems to be collapsing in on itself, trying it's hardest to take up the least space possible. i grab a blanket from the closet and try to fall asleep on the couch. the sun is just peeking over the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

**mike**

when i wake up she's curled up in the chair across from me, her thin legs drawn up to her chest. she has a blanket draped over her shoulders.

why is she here? what does she want from me? i can't help her.

i take a shower and go for a smoke on the balcony.

it's a brisk morning, albeit warmer than it's been.

"hey." sam's small voice comes from behind me. "how'd you sleep?"

"okay." not great. but it was easier to let myself sleep for a couple of hours when i wasn't alone.

"i heard you saying her name in your sleep."

"oh?" i didn't know i did this. it makes sense though. i dream about them every night. sam sits down beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. i tense.

"i dream about them too."

"yeah." i take another drag of my cigarette. i don't want to talk about them.

* * *

 **sam**

i sense his noncommittal tone. "i want to talk about it, mike." i'm afraid i'm going to forget them. i can't let myself forget them.

"i'm not your fucking therapist, sam. talk to her about it."

"she doesn't understand. she wasn't there. she thinks im crazy."

"i'm done talking about this. talking about it isn't going to help. it's over. they're gone, ok?"

it's quiet for a few moments while we both stare off into space. i can't help it. there are tears in my eyes. i look away so he doesn't notice. i can hear the words that we both refuse to say hanging in the air.

"do you hate me?" i ask him. it's a selfish thing to ask, but i have to know.

he pauses. "no, sam. i could never hate you." i nod. "do you hate me?" he asks.

"sometimes i wish i did."

he looks sad by this. "yeah."

* * *

 **mike**

she's crying.

i can hear her from my room. she fell asleep while we were watching reruns of old cartoons that were popular when we were kids. when i knew she was asleep i turned off the tv and went to my bedroom.

i rub my eyes and walk out into the living room. "sam?" she's sitting on the couch, knees pulled to her chest. and she shakes with her sobs. "sam," i say, softer this time.

i sit beside her and pull her into a hug. she's shaking and she's cold. "don't cry," i whisper so softly she probably doesn't hear me. my eyes are wet to as i reminded of just who we are and what we've been through. i wipe my eyes with my t-shirt. it isn't about me, it's about sam.

 **sam**

"i love him," i say between sobs. "so fucking much it feels like i'm going to die."

"i know, sam," he says, "i know it hurts."

"what do you do when you feel too much, too fast?" i'm not sure if i'm making sense, but he seems to understand since he answers right away.

"i drink," he says truthfully, "or i get high. or i find a warm body to help me forget who i am."

"it's been 6 months," i say. "6 fucking months and i still feel so fucking empty." he's quite for a second. "i mean fuck, mike. i know you don't want to talk about it but how the fuck do you just shut everything out like that?"

i look at him.

* * *

 **mike**

she looks at me.

"i don't know. i just do," i say.

then she kisses me. she tastes like tears. for a moment i kiss her back and try to swallow her grief. her hand finds their way into my pajama pants.

"sam," i pull away. "sam, stop." i grab her hand and she stops doing what she was doing that was making my head spin. and once i do this, i know i've sealed my fate. the rejection in her eyes is quickly wiped away. its like i can see her building new walls in which to keep me from her. "sam, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

"forget it. it was stupid." she stares at the floor.

"sam," i beg.

"just go back to sleep. i'm fine."

"sam. fucking talk to me. it's not fair. you disappeared. twice. you can't keep coming in and out of my life and expect me not to be angry. i'm not some fucking toy you can pick up whenever you need to be cheered up. you can't just fuck me and leave. and then try to come back like nothing happened. you told me you needed me but you fucking don't. you're a liar, Samantha."

fuck it. i'm too goddamn sober for this.

* * *

 **sam**

"fucking talk to you?" i can't help but bite back a laugh. "mike, i'm been _begging_ you to talk to me since day 1. i want to talk about it but you refuse to. mike fucking munroe doesn't just talk about things. you let your goddamn dick do the talking. i'm just trying to speak your language here, mike."

i can see his jaw clenching. he swallows hard.

"talk about it? fine, samantha. what part do you want me to talk about? the part where chopped off my fingers?" he holds up his hand. "the part where my girlfriend died because of me? the part where i see her face everywhere i go? where i hear her screaming my name every goddamn day? or how about the part where my sick friend died because i didn't have the balls to go after him? where i see the absolute look of betrayal and utter confusion when we found him in the mines that night every time i close my eyes?"

he's crying now. and i don't know what to say.

"or, while were at it, why don't we go back even further? to when i lived in fear every day that i would say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and my dad would beat the absolute shit out of me or my mom? or the fact that i still have fucking scars from what my piece of shit old man did to me over ten years ago? or that i tried to kill myself when i was fifteen because of what he did to me?"

i'm silent.

"didn't think so."

this time he is the one to leave me. and i fucking deserve it.


End file.
